


Fake It Until You Make It

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complete, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Jeans, M/M, No Smut, Past Relationship(s), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, feelings are gonna be a thing, sad russia need friends, sexy cuddle time, unhappy marriage rochu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Drunk and heart broken, Ivan seeks any possible solution to escape his broken marriage. Will a co-worker's idea go too far?
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 146





	1. Tears For Fears

The scrape of plastic chopsticks on glass bowl. The clink of glass bottom on wooden table. This was the sound of isolation and drift. This was the landscape of the end, and Ivan could hardly bear it. These past six months had been emotional hell.

Ivan's older wife, Wen Ming-Braginsky, was a few feet away at the other end of the table. It might as well been a mile. There was no conversation as the grandfather clock ticked. It was a stale cadence that filled the room, three cats watching from the floor.

Ivan cleared his throat, killing the silence. Wen looked up from her orange chicken with rice. Her brown eyes were no longer chocolate. Her ebony black hair had the beginnings of grey. Her face was lined ever faintly with time. 

The ashen blonde Russian man had never felt so isolated. He struggled to break the oppression. “So... I was talking to some guys at the lab.”

“Hmm.” She picked at her dinner. It wasn't even of her own crafting. Wen had stopped making fresh dinners years ago. Everything changed two years ago.

This was swimming in sand. This was being held back with chains, never to grasp what was drifting away. Ivan still had to try. It was in his nature to fight for progress, even if dad jokes had to be employed. “The conversation was about acids. I said it was basal knowledge.”

Wen said nothing, looking at him flatly.

Ivan tried again, perhaps she didn't understand. “Because acids can be basal, which is part –”

His wife sighed, pushing the chair away from the table. “It wasn't funny.”

“Oh.” Ivan's voice went soft, expression fallen. He poked his last chunk of orange chicken, shrivelling inside.

“I have to go to my sister's house. They need a babysitter until eleven.” Wen's words were a demand. Every conversation felt like a exhaustive courtesy these days.

“Oh... okay. Be careful. The roads are slippery from the...” Ivan's words were never finished. His wife had already grabbed her Gucci knock off purse and left the apartment. The slam of the front door was a slap to Ivan's crumbling act.

“... the rain.” he whispered, once again alone. His heart feeling of broken glass, he pushed aside the cold dinner. Topping up the cat's food dishes, he fled his own mortal terror.

He was at the bar again. Ivan practically lived here, a denizen among vodka bottles and polished counter tops. “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears blasted throughout the wood panelled establishment. It was some older guy's stag party, a few familiar faces in the crowd.

Ivan guessed it was some guys from work, waving to a few. The local mining operation was a big deal for the town after all. It employed half the population, including Ivan. He was the head scientist of lab B, testing ores and approving them for release. Lyric were clear despite the din of patrons.

_I wanted to be with you alone_  
_And talk about the weather_  
_But traditions I can trace against the child in your face_  
_Won't escape my attention_  
_You keep your distance with a system of touch_  
_And gentle persuasion_  
_I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?_  
_Oh, you're wasting my time_  
_You're just, just, just wasting time_

Ivan sneered and knocked back another tequila shot. Feelings. Such a waste of time. He looked from his isolated corner, eyes watery as he watched couples. Young people holding hands. Older people laughing and joking with friends. 

He had none of these things. He moved from London to the middle of goddamn nowhere in Canada. Ivan left all his friends behind for an arranged marriage to an older woman that didn't love him anymore. He dropped acid on rocks for mining companies to look at useless shiny metal. His fucking life was a joke, a heart breaking mistake.

Ivan took two more shots from a passing waiter, killing his pain. The shitty lyrics washed over him as he wished to forget... everything.

_Something happens and I'm head over heels_  
_I never find out till I'm head over heels_  
_Something happens and I'm head over heels_  
_Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart_  
_Don't, don't, don't throw it away_

The song changed eventually to something lighter and newer, the mob of dancers collectively losing their minds. Ivan grumbled and brooded, watching this all with disdain. Who even liked this crap? Who danced like they were having a stroke?

Ivan's miserable was cut off by familiarity. Was that his newest lab assistant? The brief flash of golden blonde hair was easy to catch. Alfred Jones was a young American spitfire of a scientist, flown in from Texas by the company. He had been Ivan's right hand man for two weeks now, handling the cascades of paperwork. Due to the sheer secrecy of the mining industry, only a 100% loyal scientist could be trusted with such sensitive information.

This very scientist was partying his ass off to terrible music, drunk as the sky was wide. He was dancing in odd contortion manner as he high fived the groom of the stag party. Oh god, Alfred was friends was Greg? Greg was such a douche!

Ivan tried to shrink into the vague darkness of his corner, hoping Alfred wouldn't spot him. There was no such luck.

“Boss! Oh! My! Gosh! Are you here for Greg's stag!?” Alfred was louder than the speaker system. How was this possible?

Ivan shook his head, retreating into his knitted sweater. It did him no good. Alfred breezed over with sloppy gait, wearing nothing short of bad jean shorts. How did he get one leg two inches longer than the other? Did he sheer the poor things with a kitchen knife? “Boss man! Dance with us!”

Ivan shook his head, inexplicably shy. He was a wonderful dancer, but mostly certainly not in this genre. Alfred was a stubborn ass all the same.

“Come on fella! Dance! Dance! Dance!”

The younger blonde's inane chanting caught on. Several coworkers echoed “dance!”, giggling in rosy inebriation. It had been a very long time for Ivan to be wanted in anything social. He was the resident “scary Russian guy” after all. This was perhaps a chance to challenge his established trope. Who was Ivan to shut down possibility?

“Oh... okay. I guess.” Ivan simpered, standing with slight difficulty. He was already a glass of vodka into the night.

“ **Get this motherfucker some jello shots! We gonna celebrate!** ” Greg roared. Ivan dared smile, wondering where this might lead. It was good to smile again.


	2. Just Another Country Song

Ivan was a lot of things. He was a scientist, a cat lover, a killer classical dancer. One thing he was not was a young party animal. This was why he was so surprised to wake up in an unknown location. He woke up hung over in a dinky bathtub, covered in a mysterious crusty substance. After a quick sniff and cringe of pain, he was relieved. It wasn't blood or fecal matter. He was covered in barbecue sauce for some reason.

That was a more favourable thing to be covered in, he supposed.

After scavenging painkillers from the unknown bathroom, Ivan was finally functional enough to move. He narrowly avoided stepping in a kitty litter tray as he stumbled into the hall. Everything felt bruised and tender. What had Ivan done after that raging stag party? Where had he gone?

He let memories come forth as he stared at a coffee maker in the trashed kitchen. Bothered by the slim Jim wrappers and beer cans, he pushed most of it into a garbage can. He was not the only hungover denizen of this mystery apartment.

There was a man passed out on the couch... Yes. Dave from accounting. He was so drunk last night he slapped a stripper's ass like she was a pony. A cousin of Greg was under the kitchen table, sleeping on a pile of coats. Murky recollection of falling in a duck pond sprang up at the sight. Ivan had not partied this hard since since his promotion in Russia. Corner office always came with perks.

The resident cat made an appearance, a cream coloured thing with dark mane and eye markings. It's gold coloured tag read “Amerikitty”, followed by a lengthy tracking number.

“Hello little kitty, who is America cat? You are America cat!” Ivan whispered, sitting on the floor. He spoiled the attention seeking beast, petting it and cooing. The cat had a direct mission of sorts, trying to climb Ivan and reach treats on the counter.

The cat meowed in protest, almost reaching it's goal. Ivan chuckled, picking up the pet with care. Back on the floor, it paced and schemed. It gave up quickly, yowling like a brat.

“Shut up Amerikitty. I'm coming!” Someone shouted, stomping down the hall. The two passed out men lurched to life, even more messed up than Ivan. “Fuck.” the couch guy hissed, sitting up slowly. Ivan had no pity for Dave. He was a bit of a corporate pig.

Ivan wanted to die when he realized who's apartment he was in. It was Alfred Jones, the greenest member of his crew. The ultra American cat, spy movie posters, and family pictures were a dead give away. Ivan was covered in alcohol, sauce, and cat hair while under the roof of a subordinate. His authority was at immense risk of being undermined.

Alfred seemed to act differently, in nothing but Pokemon boxers and an aggressively pink muscle shirt. 'What happens in Florida, stays in Florida' was in neon blue on the frightening clothing piece. The normally flighty male ignored his boss on the floor, dead eyed and tired. Pouring a cup of coffee black, he barely waited to drink the scalding liquid.

The cousin and the accountant fled quickly, giving Alfred a kurt wave. “See you Monday, Al.” They quipped, quick to escape.

“See ya.” Alfred mumbled, barely awake. He plunked into a kitchen chair after tossing his chubby kitty two treats. Satisfied, the feline finally shut up. After ten minutes of awkward morning silence and coffee, Alfred was alert. He cracked his knuckles, then his expression went slack.

He seemed to realize his boss was frozen in the kitchen, at a loss for words. Alfred scrambled to his feet. “Hey boss man. I know we got really drunk with Greg but um, that was all last night. I didn't push you in a duck pond on purpose, I thought it was a trampoline. I didn't...” The lesser scientist trailed off, anxious as Ivan smiled.

The russian chuckled, relieved. He was not under threat from this young fawn today. “Nyet, is fine. We were all very drunk, and drunk things happen.”

“Thank baby Jesus.” Alfred sighed, sitting once more.

Now it was Ivan's turn to fret. “Mr. Jones, I... Things were said about my home situation last night. I was very drunk.”

“It's not exactly a workplace secret.” Alfred drawled, finishing off piping hot coffee.

Ivan looked away, scratching his sore neck. “I would appreciate if details were not discussed.”

“No problem boss man.”

Well, that was easy. If only other workplace problems were so easy to solve. “Thank you, Alfred.” Ivan replied, feeling a whole lot better. Perhaps he was so drunk he ended up crying in a stranger's tub about his loveless marriage. Perhaps this was after buying twenty dollars in overpriced gummy worms. There was no record to confirm such things.

After cooling a coffee with milk and sugar, Ivan downed his own caffeine. Discovering his phone behind the green toilet, Ivan wiped more barbecue sauce off the device. He felt like day old meat in the sun, craving a shower. About to depart, Ivan looked back cautiously.

Alfred waved to him, cheerful as always. His fat cat meowed, wanting more treats. “See you Monday, boss man.”

“It's... Ivan. You can call me Ivan. Thanks for inviting me out.” Ivan nearly whispered, unused to fun with co-workers. Getting transferred to Canada a year ago had been brutal to his social life.

“You can call me Al. My full name is too formal.”

At this, they both nodded in silent agreement, Ivan heading home. He felt bizarrely light and happy during the taxi ride home. It was like skipping school as a child or getting the last dumpling, a sprinkling of joy in normality.

This joviality died instantly when he reached the third floor of his apartment building. Faint but treacherous music played, Chinese country music. Wen only listened to it when she was truly pissed off, or about to do something crazy. Taking a deep breath, Ivan braced himself. He entered his apartment, seeing as he expected. 

Wen, beautifully youthful for a forty something, was in her designer wicker chair by the window. Her silhouette was cut dark by sunlight as a cigarette left a spiraling trail of silver. She could easily pass as thirty something when she dyed her roots. Ivan could see beyond her beautiful shell for years now, unaffected by her cutting look. They both hid behind shields of their own crafting after ten weary years of marriage.

“You crawled back.” She spoke flatly, petting their calico cat on her silken black lap.

“I did.” Ivan answered in the same tone, not up for games.

“It makes sense now, why our marriage is in trouble.”

Ivan was caught off guard by this statement. Wen was a fierce traditional woman that didn't believe in divorce. It was the main reason the couple hung on as long as they did. They went to therapy. They tried new things. Anything was better than admitting they were a terrible pair. Family on both sides would be deeply disappointed otherwise.

Wen lowered the volume of her country music, almost smug in porcelain expression. “Neither of us failed this marriage. The problem is that you are attracted to men.”

Ivan's jaw dropped. He locked the front door, brows furrowed in outrage. “How can you say that? I've never once cheated on you or strayed!”

Wen was under his skin and Ivan didn't like it one bit. She could be fickle like that. “That's the problem Ivan. We're both unhappy. You are attracted to men. You can't have that. So what, Am I honorable cover from your family?”

“How... How are you getting any of that from me? I'm straight Wen. I have nothing to hide.” Ivan could feel his infamous temper boiling already. Wen truly dragged the devil out of him like this.

Wen was just as angry, the cats scattered as she stood. “You texted me ten times last night you drunk Russian bastard! You sent videos! Many videos!”

Ivan blanched as Wen played three videos on her phone in front of him. It was bad. Drinking Ivan had decided texting was an _amazing_ idea. All of it was gibberish. The videos were a cherry cheeked Ivan, barely walking in some public park at night. Men from the stag party held him as he flexed for the cameras. Another was Ivan posing in a duck pond with a soaking wet Alfred.

The last video was the most incriminating, Ivan drunk senseless and licking Barbecue sauce off Alfred's hand. If you squinted, it might seem vaguely homosexual. Even then, Ivan thought it was far fetched. A shred of something, leading to nothing. This was more than enough for his vengeful wife.

Ivan had to patch this up before it spiraled out of control. He clasped Wen by both shoulders, firm and controlling. “Wen, my cherry blossom, I never... I'm not like _that_. I'm trying to make us better together. I want us to actually be happy, don't you?”

She brushed him off with ease, immune. “I'm not crazy, Ivan. You are hiding something, and I _will_ find it.”

Ivan was left by the window with his own thoughts, Wen sauntering off in victory. _Fuck_. Ivan just couldn't win, could he?


	3. Talk To Me

Ivan listened to a co-worker's song, playing weakly through a forgotten phone. He didn't want to go home anymore. He didn't want to drink anymore. Work was the only medium left where he had power. It was the only place left where he didn't feel like shit. It was why he was lingering, last in Lab B. He had no more paperwork to file. It was time to go, but he had no where he was welcome.

_You don't have to be a hero to save the world_  
_It doesn't make you a narcissist to love yourself_  
_It feels like nothing is easy it'll never be_  
_That's alright, let it out, talk to me_

_You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique_  
_You don't have to know what to say or what to think_  
_You don't have to be anybody you can never be_  
_That's alright, let it out, talk to me_

The song warbled out of the phone, it's owner absent. The squeak of sneakers on tile floor followed. It was Alfred, hair askew. “Ha! Thought I lost it in the samples room!” He cheered, swiping the device into his hands.

_Anxiety tossing turning in your sleep_  
_Even if you run away you still see them in your dreams_  
_It's so dark tonight, but you'll survive certainly_  
_It's alright, come inside, and talk to me_

“Can you... leave the song a minute?” Ivan whispered, glassy eyed as he stared out the window. Alfred paused his escape, confused. He set the phone back on the counter, restarting it. Ivan sniffled as he clutched the only picture he had displayed on his desk for nine years

_We can talk here on the floor_  
_On the phone, if you prefer_  
_I'll be here until you're okay_  
_Let your words release your pain_  
_You and I will share the weight_  
_Growing stronger day by day_

The song ended soon after, Ivan forcing his eyes to dry out. He left without another word, crumpled photo still in his hands. He didn't know how he was going to take another night of stony silence with his wife. He had to find new places to hide.

Ivan's train of thought was interrupted, hand on his shoulder. Ivan looked back, fear in his eyes. He couldn't help it, ready to crack since last week. It was Alfred, the golden retriever of lab assistants. “What.” The Russian spat out, more prickly than usual today.

Alfred shrugged shyly, putting his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you wanna go bowling tonight?”

It was such an innocent offer, random and unexpected. Ivan hadn't done anything fun since moving here, with the exception of that drunk stag party. He tried a few dates with Wen, but she wasn't much of a burgers and fries person. Ivan hesitated, defensive glare warming.

“I... would like to go bowling tonight.”

Alfred smiled and it could light up a room. “Alright! I'll text you the directions!” He then dashed off, forever energetic.

Ivan dared a wrinkle of a smile, watching the other head out. It was okay if he came home late. There was no home cooked dinner waiting for him. There was no conversation left to share in that hollow world. Was there no love left either? He dared to wish there was something, but Ivan could grant himself this luxury.

Feeling less guilty than earlier, He finally uncurled his fist. The photo of his first year anniversary with Wen was crumpled and sweaty. Wrinkled and sun faded, it once held a key spot in Ivan's wallet. Dare he? Dare he change this small thing? Ivan took a deep breath, then fully let go.

The picture landed in a trash can, Ivan whistling softly as he walked away.


	4. Running After You

The volume rose, matching the tense atmosphere. Ivan was trying to do a dinner date with Wen, but everything went sideways. She was unhappy with her spaghetti and meatballs. Why was that a surprise anymore. In her eyes the only spaghetti worth eating was from –

“... Marianna's in London, and anything short of that is animal feed. I'm surprised they are allowed to serve people here.” Ivan vaguely listened to his wife's ranting, but nothing was new. He sometimes finished her sentences to entertain himself. It was better than Wen tearing apart a family business alone.

Wen was something ire today, and nothing could soothe her. Ivan had tried after work, giving up after an hour and letting her fume. A different setting wasn't making a difference either. “I'm going to complain.” Wen decided, wiggling out of her booth seat.

Ivan rolled his eyes, mimicking her in high pitch. “I going to complain!”

Wen turned red like a fiery dragon, pausing her angry exit. “Stop it Ivan!”

“Stop it Ivan!” Ivan echoed childishly.

“I swear to god, I'll...” Wen huffed, beginning combustion.

At this Ivan went dead serious. “You'll do what? Make an ass of us in my favourite place? Make all these people feel uncomfortable? Congratulations! You already did that by the dozen! You might as well throw this perfectly good food at a server while you're at it!”

Wen paled, looking around the family restaurant. Everyone was subtly watching, only to look away at her accusatory glare. A stern waitress approached, looking absolutely done with their antics. “Excuse me, but this disagreement will have to be taken outside. Other patrons are becoming uncomfortable.”

Ivan took this all in stride, offering a saccharine smile. “My apologies madam. Can I take our dinners to go?”

“Food that is garbage!” Wen hissed poisonously, her black hair in a bun tighter than her temper.

“The food is just fine.” Ivan countered, handing the server a generous tip. With a nod, their meal was packaged and handed to Ivan at the front door. The brewing storm didn't take long to restart, booming in the parking lot.

“What the fuck was that Ivan? I thought you were my husband! You didn't support me in there at all!” Wen accused, jumping right up to yelling volume. 

“Why would I support you when you're wrong?” Ivan challenged, uncaring how awful they were in public. These days he was getting fed up with these stupid feuds.

The final lightning bolt, sharp and burning, was unleashed. This was the issue that began dividing them two years ago. They had problems before that point, but this beast made everything worse. “Maybe I wouldn't be so miserable if I had a family!”

Ivan was downright sick of this, just as thundering. “You want to ruin everyone's lives because I'm not a wonder in bed. Is that it? Am I not enough dumb Russian for you? Am I enough anything!?”

Wen loosed a lone tear, a blasphemy for someone with so much make up on. “Maybe if you could finish, we wouldn't be in this shit hole. You are a spineless corporate worm just like dad said!” At this last clawed attack, she ripped away Ivan's car keys.

He should have followed Wen. He should have said something. All Ivan could do was gape in shock, reeling from her finale. That... that cut deeper than ever! It wasn't his fault he was infertile. It wasn't his fault sex had become impossible lately. Getting off was difficult when you were judged like an animal cross section. Getting naked in front of his own wife was invitation for constant attack.

She drove away in their black caravan, black tire tracks squealed behind her. Ivan stood scattered and pained as he held two white boxes of still hot pasta dinner. Taking a shaky breath, he willed himself to sit on a bench. One deep breath. Two deep breaths. Three deep breaths.

He could do this. He could breathe. Breathing wasn't hard, it was using your lungs. After five minutes, Ivan's hands had stopped shaking from stress. After ten minutes, he realized something crucial. Ivan was just ditched thirty minutes from home with nothing but his phone and cooling spaghetti. He had his wallet, so he wasn't completely helpless.

This entire evening was still jarring. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? His house keys had been on the same ring Wen stole. Solemnly, Ivan scrolled his contacts list. He supposed there was hotels nearby. With few work friends available, what else could he do?

His phone dinged, startling him. It was another cat meme. Ever since Alfred found out Ivan loved cats, memes had swamped their brief work texts. This one was a cat with a hat, making fun of the American president.

Ivan smiled, sending an emoticon face. Alfred's text response was fast.

'Hey U. Wat up' The screen read simply, in all it's grammatical awfulness.

'Not much' Ivan responded, more excited then he should sensibly be. This was a dumb text. It wasn't like Alfred really wanted to be friends him.

'Bored. U like rpgs?'

Ivan wondered if this was a scientific term. He loved science without end. 'Yes. X))'

'Play dragonage w/t me!'

Oh my. That didn't sound like a science thing at all. Ivan looked upward at dark clouds. It was going to rain anytime now with the cool embrace of northern sunset. He had a choice to make. Get rained on, or figure out what “dragonage w/t me” meant in relative safety and shelter.

Sticking a tongue out in concentration, Ivan was giddy as he replied. 'Ok. Pick me up @ Antonios?'

There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty. Did he seem too needy? Ivan really didn't want to get rained on in his fall sweater. It was hand made by his grandmother in Russia, a total rain sponge. His fear was unfounded. With a ding of confirmation, Alfred was on the way. He lived downtown, only minutes away.

Soon Ivan was safe in the increasingly familiar living room of his colleague. Amerikitty was ever present, marking up his goofy sweater with cat hair. Pasha, Lucky, and Smoky at home would be so jealous.

“Alfred, how do I sword!?” Ivan asked, his thick accent rolling the r's like cat purrs. He spammed buttons while dodging a bog monster on the giant television screen.

“X, A, then A! Do a special!” Alfred cheered, stuffing leftover spaghetti in his face.

“I am killing the swamp thing. I am doing the sword thing!” Ivan crowed in victory. His character was then crushed like a bug by a flailing vine the thickness of a tree. He squinted in disdain, then dropped the controller on the couch. “This is ox crap!”

Alfred laughed with mirth as the spawning screen loaded. “Oh come on Ivan! Fourth time the charm?”

“NYET!” Ivan cursed, crossing his arms.

Without warning, the entire apartment plunged into silent darkness. “Ah shit. The um, breakers keep going on the building. Just... hold on.” Alfred rambled, his voice getting farther away in the dark. There was clattering and muffled Texan swearing as Ivan's host searched for something.

Ivan huffed softly at this comedy, petting the cat. Flashlights were soon produced, brightness cutting the dark in twain. The powerful flashlight was placed facing the ceiling, Alfred resuming his free dinner feast. In the dim of the flashlight's umbra, Ivan could see a sober expression take form.

“I gotta ask... as a friend, if we are friends.” Alfred began, pushing his glasses up.

Ivan thanked the darkness for partial cover, a little warm under the collar. “I think we are. We eat lunch together.”

“Why were you alone with two meals in the rain?”

Ivan averted his eyes, running his hand through his hair. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully, glancing up. “Well. If you ever want to... I'm okay with it.”

The Russian was slightly breathless at the offer, internally stunned. He had not relied on anyone for a long time, unused to the possibility. He felt a flutter of anxiety, but also gratitude. “Thanks... friend.”

Alfred smiled. It was just as bright as any flashlight.


	5. I Want To Be Free

Realization was like breaking the surface after being underwater. Disorientation. Temporary blindness. Be what it it may, Ivan took years to emerge from his lunacy. Did it began when Wen ditched him at the family restaurant? Did it begin when they stopped celebrating birthdays? How did the gap become this big?

Ivan didn't know how, but he was slowly accepting that he couldn't fix everything. He couldn't seem to approach his once loving wife with any degree of success. Nothing could soothe her, or grant her greatest wish. Wen wanted children, years ago before menopause. Ivan was infertile. There was no cure, no amount of medicine to prevent making blanks.

Wen was probably angry about the tragic death of her first husband. Wen was definitely angry about losing out on children. Ivan didn't own a time machine to conveniently undo all these tragic life events. There was certainly things Ivan could do, but most of them were not productive.

It was a month after the parking lot incident and things were... mostly peaceful with Wen. They rarely argued anymore. This was due to a new reason. Ivan had moments where he stopped caring about her opinion. They were brief at first, like fireflies in the pitch of night.

Less burdened, Ivan began expanding his social circle. He attended hockey games with the boys. He went drinking socially instead of killing pain. He learned to smile, if rarely. Things were especially easier with his new lab assistant in tow.

Alfred easily adapted to his assigned role. They hung out after work frequently. Alfred taught him modern North American culture. Ivan taught him critical thinking and losing chess slower. Things were almost easy, until they weren't.

Ivan was over at Alfred's place during the weekend. It was Canadian tradition to watch the latest hockey match. This was no burden to Ivan, from a land of ice. Alfred had trouble grasping non summer sports at the basic level.

“I don't see why this is a big deal. Foot ball is better.” Alfred announced loudly over game.

“Shut up you big American baby. Canada wipes your country's ass at winter Olympics and you can't stand it.” Dave complained. The accountant could be scumbag sometimes, but Christ did he love a good game.

“It's not... skiing isn't even a sport. You guys go down a hill really fast.” Alfred ragged on.

The two other guys complained right back. “Shut up!” “The game is in overtime!”

Ivan smirked, eating popcorn. His good times abruptly interrupted with a phone call. Ivan looked at the screen, dismissing it without thinking. Several minutes passed before he panicked. “Oh _shit_.” he blurted out during a beer commercial.

“What?” Shawn asked, partially buzzed in a plastic chair.

“I just hung up on my angry wife!” Ivan confessed, racing to call her back.

“Bro, don't. You're already dead.” Dave pointed out wisely.

“He knows this shit. He's been divorced twice.” Andy, a friend of Dave's, backed him up. Alfred nodded, stealing Ivan's popcorn.

Ivan took back his hard earned food after turning off his phone. The guys made a point in all this. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“Fake your death.” Shawn slurred.

“Pretend you're gay to get out of the marriage.” Dave continued this very intellectual conversation.

Alfred scoffed. “That would never work dumbass. You have to find someone stupid enough to go for it.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You don't have to fuck. You both act like your gay, for money.”

“No one wants to do that with you Dave.” Shawn laughed. The room erupted into cheers as the final score was made. The Edmonton Oilers had beat the Calgary flames for a spot in the NHL this winter.

“Fuck you Calgary Flames!” Shawn hooted loudly despite the hour.

The other guys hid looks of defeat under their hands. “I had money on the flames.” One admitted softly, groaning as he stood.

Dave glanced at the time on the phone. “Come on man. Your girlfriend will be pissed if we don't bring you back soon.” Shawn complained the entire time he was guided out by his two friends. “I'm _fine_!”

Soon it was Ivan and Alfred alone. This rare silence was becoming comfortable with time. They were true friends. The unlikely pair got along from the first day Alfred was shown around. This space between them didn't need to be frantically filled with words anymore. Ivan was honestly content to nap where he was. This ultra American apartment was close to memorized. Trips to the bar, a local soccer game, stopping by stores...

Ivan kept finding himself at this junction of brash culture and goofy charm. He certainly didn't regret it. Life at home was rapidly deteriorating to one sided arguing and egg shells. Curiously, Ivan was always the silent one, staring out the window as he was belittled or yelled at. Wen, once the centre of his universe, couldn't be farther away.

_The gap was too big._

_Nothing could close it._

All this inane conversation of faking his death had Ivan scheming. If Ivan was honest with himself, he was not a fast thinker. He could take days to formulate zippy responses, mapping when to use them. The slowly percolating process took four days to finish this time. 

It was a Thursday, and Ivan was clattering away on ancient keyboard. He had to do weekly reports on ore tests. Little did the company know, the results were so repetitive that he used the same document days ahead of time.

Secret knitting. Eating pudding cups. Doodling decent pictures of cats. This was what Ivan actually did for twenty minutes a day. Top notch scientist material indeed. Today was more serious office time. He had a pros and cons list on his desk. It was titled “reasons to stay” and “leaving” respectively.

He tapped his company pen on the desk. Reasons to stay. He tapped it again. _Reasons to stay with Wen_. He looked to his list, “Ten years of marriage” surround by question marks. The “leaving” category was more full than he expected. It was small things like not being yelled at over loading a dishwasher. Being allowed to wear more colourful office shirts without mocking would be nice. Not hearing Wen's sister screeching over the phone at stupid hours could be luxury. Wen's family never grasped the idea of timezone courtesies.

Was he really going to get divorced? The very word held weight to him, of stone and metal. It felt forbidden and dangerous yet seductive. Ivan let out a shaky breath, crumpling up the list. This seemed too extreme, but he was so tired of arguing with his wife. He flattened out the list and lay it on the desk.

What was a man to do?

This dilemma was delayed another day. Alfred came in, singing loudly with the holiest of foods. Ivan reached out to the grease stained paper bag in need. He loved french fries. He would punch out a man for the taste of crispy salty heaven. Fries were his Achilles heel, alongside blin and chocolate. Wen had set the electric fence of standards long ago. Absolutely no fast food was allowed at home.

This wasn't home. Alfred chuckled, handing over the goods. “Six dollars big guy.”

Ivan flung random change at Alfred, uncaring if it was too much. Thank all the stars in the sky for goddamn french fries. After a few harried bites, Ivan was a purring pile of contentment. As he dipped fries luxuriously in far too much ranch dressing, Alfred sat with his own burger.

“Hungry?”

Ivan shielded his fries, but Alfred snatched one with lithe agility. The Russian grumbled, narrowing his gaze. “Bastard.”

“I ate five on the way over.” Alfred challenged fiercely, in mock anger. He then gave a dimpled smile.

Ivan continued to eat, playing along with the act. “I'll never forgive you. I will start a 100 year old grudge over this.”

Alfred took a bite out of his burger, wiping his mouth after swallowing. “Oh you'll haunt me. Woo.”

“Yes, like an elevator fart. I'll linger forever.” Ivan joked. The reaction was lively and unexpected. Very few people ever laughed at his jokes, possibly due to flat delivery.

Alfred nearly choked on his food after laughing wildly. About to get up and do the Heimlich, Ivan's concern was soothed. The idiot across from him managed to clear things up. Alfred coughed a little between words. “You're goddamn funny Ivan. Gonna kill me. Need water.”

“Do not drown in the water fountain, Mr. Scientist man.”

Alfred snorted as he left. Alone momentarily, Ivan wiggled excitedly in his seat a second. Someone actually thought he was funny! No one in this dumb town thought he was funny before, even his wife. He barely had time to compose himself, finishing off his fries. Pushing all the greasy wrapper garbage into a trash can, Ivan wiped his fingers off on his lab coat.

Alfred returned and ate the other half of his lunch. As he talked, crumbs fell all over his lab coat. “What ya doing?”

“The ACC-07 files need to be handed in before midnight.” Ivan replied shortly, typing away. 

“Eww. Work.” Alfred pouted.

“Did you finish running the tests on BLW-05?” Ivan perked a brow at his technical lesser

Alfred sighed, cleaning his glasses. “Yes. I cleaned the trays after. I filed a cleaning report on the trays. I did the stuff. I did the things.”

“Good dog.” Ivan joked. Alfred threw a pencil at him playfully. This was nice, fun playful time with friends. Everything was encouraging and hopeful... until it would end. Ivan would drag his miserable body home to a hostile house of sneers and dead conversation.

Ivan looked at his crumpled list of cons against, swallowing nervously. “Do you want to hang out after work?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Alfred answered nonchalantly, checking his phone.

“You had other plans?”

Alfred nodded, putting down his device. “Rent's due but I can't afford it. Gotta move.”

“Well...” Ivan trailed off. “Maybe put off packing boxes for now.”

Alfred was driven up the wall with curiosity at Ivan's secret plan. The Russian was wise not to divulge his ideas prematurely. Still, Alfred managed to survive not being told the secret. Work was boring, but Ivan managed to fill the time with lab tests on samples. The sun was already setting in northern bands of blue clouds.

The drive home darkened, along with Ivan's thoughts. After ten whole years, was he really going to give up his marriage? Was there anything left to salvage? The tenacious scientist had to be absolutely sure this was a wise choice.

Lights were on when he arrived at his apartment. Wen was home, chatting with her sister while washing dishes. Ivan entered the kitchen, wary and alert. “Dearest?” he called out softly.

Wen gave him a glance of recognition, but nothing more. It was generous of her to offer that much, after Ivan's lack of sexual performance. The very last attempt at seduction was a disaster.

“I was wondering if you wanted to... talk about things, or... do something together, as a couple?” The question was low and pleading, reaching for any sincerity. It only grasped cold stone.

Wen gave him an odd expression, then looked away. Bursting into laughter over her phone conversation, she resumed the Mandarin phone call. Ivan waited a minute, then a few minutes more. Wen was not getting off the phone at all. Ivan was not generally weepy or emotional, but things had been rough these past two years.

Ivan was not going to cry. He survived getting mugged in Russia, and he was not going to let this break him. Wearing a stern expression, he headed to the bedroom. Backing a luggage case of clothes, he swiped a handful of things from the bathroom. His sleepy cat meowed in confusion as it was loaded into it's cat carrier.

“It will be okay. Papa will take care of you Pasha.” Ivan whispered to his loved pet. It blinked back, wide eyes in a ball of grey fur.

Wen was finished her call by the time Ivan left the bedroom. “What did you want?” she barked, arms crossed. She was angry already, just fantastic.

“I don't... I don't want anything.” Ivan mumbled.

“Then why did you need to talk?” Her words were cold. Her posture was needles and future barbs beneath red manicure. Her redone hair was dark and empty like her eyes. Ivan looked at the void pools he once drown in. There was no waters of enigma to delve. There was only a crust of frustration over a molten mantle of marital problems. What lay at the core of this sad world they created together?

Ivan was sure of it now as he broke their locked gaze. Beyond the pain, he felt nothing at all. They had nothing, hopes dried away to dust. For once having certainty, Ivan offered a dry line of a smile.

On the verge of leaving the tiny apartment, Ivan looked back one more time. “Take care of yourself, my cherry blossom.”


	6. Drunk Ideas

It was an easy journey for Ivan to end up on Alfred's couch. This past month and a half had been a whirlwind of friendship. Alfred rapidly transformed from shy new worker to reliable buddy. It was hard to imagine lab work without him. They shared similar humour, giant nerds at heart.

It made the decision to dump Pasha here much easier. “So. Can you take care of Pasha? He's very cuddly.” Ivan pressed on, determined. He let the cat out as he spoke. Alfred's place was more than capable of another cat. Pasha chirped a short meow, dashing off to play with Amerikitty's stuff.

“So...” Alfred stammered, “You're just going to glaze over leaving your wife and a bag of your clothes here?”

“I... I thought we were such great friends.” Ivan admitted, feeling a little rosy. This was such a stupid impulsive idea. He followed his gut for once, and it may have led him to ruin.

Alfred paced the room, forever frenetic. “You and her have ten years. You can't throw that away. There has to be therapy, or things you can do.”

“We tried. We tried everything, I... I tried...” Ivan's voice cracked from sorrow despite tight control. Now was not the time to let his dastardly feelings leak out. He took a breath, long and deep. Ivan needed to calm down. “I tried to fix it.”

Alfred stopped his little show, pausing before his work boss. “Are you crying?”

“No.” Ivan hissed, blinking away blurry vision. He took another ragged breath. After a minute, he dried out enough to continue. “But this divorce is going to be a mess unless I give her a concrete reason. Something that is completely uncontrollable as a factor.”

“Whoa now.” Alfred peered closely, adjusting his glasses. “You _are_ crying.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , I thought maybe...” He fired off the rest of the sentence in a mad rush. “We could pretend to be gay so I can keep my family money.”

Alfred took a long blink. “What?”

God this was a bad idea. Ivan was truly desperate. “It wouldn't be a long term thing. Only until the papers are signed.”

His lab assistant cocked his head. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Ivan nodded as the processing of information trickled. “Yes.”

“Is she going to hollow you out otherwise?”

“She'll gut me like a fish, Al.” Ivan emphasized this by dragging an index finger across his neck.

There was a long moment of Alfred sitting there in contemplation. He looked to the window blinds, then back to Ivan. “How much family money are we talking here?”

The Russian was genuinely surprised he got this far in the conversation. “Half a million.”

“What!? Half a mill –” Alfred had to stifle his own screech, for the hour was getting late. “Money!”

“Money. It's why divorce has been off the table until now. If she gets away with a quarter of a million or worse, my ancestors will dance in their gravestones.”

At this Alfred let out a little huff of humour. “You mangled that saying to hell big guy.”

Ivan perked a brow. “Is it not dancing in their gravestones?”

“No, it's rolling over in their grave. Dancing on someone's grave is a separate thing.”

Curse North American culture yet again! “That makes no sense. Dead people do not roll, or dance on where they are sleeping.”

“Your Russian car crash memes are just as stupid.” Alfred countered lightly. He leaned back in his seat, then sighed. “I need to think a minute.”

Ivan patiently waited, secretly jittery. By god, Alfred was considering a plan once proposed by a drunk guest. It truly was a step up from faking your own death. After opening a beer and taking a few drinks, The tanned blonde seemed to gather his thoughts.

“ _If_ I do this stunt, there's conditions. First, acting only. I'm not gay, and I'm not doing anything. None of it. It's not what I do.” The next words were picked cautiously, the most serious things Alfred spoke to date. “ _If_ I do this, you have to pay off my student debt. Every speck of it.”

Ivan let out a breath in relief. It couldn't be that bad. “How much?”

“Sixty five thousand dollars, and some change.” Alfred answered honestly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. His student debt was why he couldn't afford this nice apartment. It was also why he ate Ramen noodle packs almost every day at work.

This was Ivan's golden ticket to freedom, and it was a measly fraction of his locked away inheritance. The second Wen was out of the picture, Ivan could crack that fund open and pay Alfred. Father had been deeply disapproving of the marriage and tied everything up before he passed.

Alfred paled as Ivan smiled and offered a hand. “I think that is very agreeable. Shake on it?”

“Oh fuck, I thought that would scare you off. Isn't this a bad idea? I feel like this is a bad idea. Maybe we should do something else.” Alfred was hyperventilating more as he babbled.

“I'll pay half the rent. I'll take the couch.” Ivan pressed, so close to victory. Alfred sweat nervously, baby blue eyes bouncing between Ivan's determined gaze and the offered hand.

“I'll wash the dishes. Don't make me beg, Al.”

The younger man caved, still looking slightly bloodless. “Fuck, I hope this aint bullshit.” He drawled anxiously. The deed was sealed by the firm shake, both men leaning back after. “So, what does acting gay mean? I'm not dancing around in rainbow shorts and singing to Madonna.”

Ivan opened his mouth to correct the other, then froze. He had no idea how to proceed. “I don't know anything about gay people.”

Alfred shrugged, looking up things on his phone screen. He read a line curiously. “Bears and Otters live cam. What's that?”

Ivan shrugged, walking around so they could both see the screen. “Sounds like a nature show. I like nature.”

“I do too.” Alfred poked the internet link. They both watched strange flesh on flesh a fraction of a second, then realized what was going on. Alfred turned the phone off and threw it on the couch in terror.

“ **What the fuck!** ” Ivan blurted out in Russian.

“I need to bleach my virgin eyes.” Alfred whined, covering his face. “What were they doing to that guy?”

“That was his butt. They were doing butt stuff.” Ivan muttered in english, thoroughly sick.

After a minute, they recovered from internet induced trauma. Alfred picked up his phone and dared another knowledge hunt. Ivan was wary as he spoke. “Maybe we will stick to Wikipedia, yes?”

Alfred's response was solemn. “Agreed.”


	7. Don't Stop

Ivan had not returned to Wen since that last night. When he did arrive, it was with moving boxes. Alfred was right behind him, having nothing to do on a Sunday. Alfred's mouth moved before his brain, like always.

“This apartment sucks! Mine has crown moulding.”

“Thanks, Al.” Ivan sighed. The observation was not wrong. There was clutter from corners of the world here. Ivan used to live near London at a cottage. Before that, he lived at home in Russia near two sisters and five cousins. Wen had been an only child from a prestigious military couple in china, yet three quarters of the furniture was hers. It was both there fault they became used to lush western luxuries.

This was it. Ivan had to tell Wen. Hellfire incarnated stood before him, giving Ivan a hard slap. It wasn't the first time confrontations took a physical edge. Wen's voice was a dagger to Ivan in this very moment. “How dare you! You leave me here with no warning for three days! Where did you go? What did you do!”

Cheek stinging, Ivan didn't have the energy to fight back. “Wen. I want you to meet Alfred. He's... very special to me.” He sounded like a bad movie script. The Russian wondered if he was selling this whole gay thing.

Alfred was a much better actor in all respects. He smiled that Hollywood perfect smile and offered a hand. “Pleased to meet you mam.”

Wen looked confused, backing up slowly. “What is this?”

Ivan smiled dryly. “You accused me of being gay almost two months ago. It took me some time to come to terms with it, but you were right. I... I've been in denial because of family honour, money, and your feelings. This past year has been so horrible that I think we should divorce.”

The reaction was more violent than expected. Wen was beyond mad as she poised to strike Ivan again. The manicure clawed slap never came, even as Ivan winced.

Alfred caught the strike in mid air, looking just as angry. A fit wiry grip firmly trapped the fuming woman. “Stop hitting my boyfriend you bitch!”

Ivan's heart did a small flip at being defended. It was enough to fuel the rest of his words. “Wen I'm... I'm sorry I couldn't make us work.” He added sincerely. “I don't care about what our families want anymore. I want us to be happy again.”

Wen wrenched her arm back only Alfred released it, smug as he pushed up his glasses. “I don't believe any of this. You know how I'm open minded about unusual couples. You're acting, so you can take all your family money with you. You know it's the only way you'll ever get a single dollar out of me.”

“Mam, that is completely nonsense.” Alfred denied quickly.

Ivan was a bad liar and he knew it. He panicked at his ruse taking a whole second to be divulged. Shit, Ivan forgot the lines they practised on the car ride over. _Shit_. Come on tears, save his acting! The broken man had wanted to cry for six months but right now he was dry eyed. How inconvenient.

Alfred took his role better, jabbing Wen in the chest with an index finger. “Listen bitch. This man is funny, smart, and he does not deserve to come into work on the verge of goddamn tears. You broke him, and all you can do is beat the shit out of him. He's mine, and I'm never letting you have him again!”

Ivan's new best friend seemed to be genuinely angry. It was frightening yet thrilling to watch. Tired of fighting, tired of resentment, he was ready to hide from it all. Unconsciously the ash blonde hid behind a more resilient Alfred. “Please, stop fighting. I just want to pack a few things.”

Wen was immune to this fiery display, ignoring the jab while not moving an inch. “Nice acting, man child. I want to hear the truth from _my_ husband.”

Finally, the stupid tears came. It was only a few, but it was enough. What would a vulnerable gay person do right now when scared senseless? Take shelter in the arms of their man? Ivan had no idea, gambling everything. Sniffling, Ivan wrapped himself around the shorter in a hug.

“I don't want to fight anymore.” He dramatically confessed. Nestling his face close to Alfred's, Ivan frantically whispered. “ _I forgot all my lines. She doesn't believe me. We're fucked_.”

“This is for student debt.” Alfred whispered, his face shielded from Wen's view. He then kissed Ivan passionately. It was unexpected. It was warm and soft. It made Ivan a little dizzy. Just as quickly, the moment was over.

“I'll be in the hall while you pack. I swear to baby Jesus, if I hear her sass you or hurt you, I'll break her arm!” Alfred announced with flair, throwing a dirty look to Wen. He left, starting to turn pink. It was now flustered Ivan and shocked Wen alone.

His raging wife had calmed, now visibly depressed. She bought the act. She finally believed the story. Ivan didn't have anything else left to give, his heart pounding. Alfred wore lip chap. “I'm sorry it came to this.” Ivan lied, voice wobbling. He was certain he was blushing like a beet.

Wen looked entirely defeated, even under all her TV perfect make-up. “It's my fault. I was used to how we were, I didn't think we could change. I didn't... I'll have the lawyer set up something as soon as possible.”

“We didn't start this way.” Ivan offered weakly, still rosy from Alfred's improvisation. Alfred's lip chap had tasted like lemonade. The flavour burned in Ivan's brain.

“Yet here we are.” Wen's words were bitter and cold. It was strange that Ivan was hardly affected. Almost any interaction with her this last month was empty. Maybe he was the sick one here?

“I'm going to pack some things. I wanted you to know... You can have the cottage near London. I know you were happier there. I don't want us to fight over _things_. It's... We were never like that before. Why should we start now.” Ivan picked up an empty box as he spoke. Wen's two Siamese cats watched all of this from the kitchen counter, eyeing the empty box.

Wen nodded slowly, now avoiding his gaze. “Fine. I need air.” With that flat rebuttal, she grabbed her purse and fled. Ivan was alone with only his own thoughts. He gingerly touched his lips, brain not processing most of the conversation.

 _Alfred's kiss tasted like lemonade and sunshine_.


	8. It Gettin' Real

Life seemed to be in disarray. Ivan expected to be in his bedroom every morning, waking to an all American living room instead. Tom Brady posters, avengers merch, and football bobble heads on a shelf above the TV. This was not his cool bedroom of blues, whites and greys. There was not a dozen pillows chosen by his wife from a decorating store.

This morning, Ivan woke up to cursing and the scent of smoke. His back already hurt from the shitty couch. It was better than waking alone in an expensive hotel. Ivan was thankful of this small fact. “Fuck!” Echoed from the kitchen once more.

Groggy, Ivan sat up. The air was hazy with smoke. A small grease fire flared from a frying pan as Alfred freaked out in his superman T-shirt. Grumbling quiet swears in Russian, Ivan pulled on his pink housecoat and shambled over. It _was_ white, until Alfred washed his red clothes with Ivan's whites.

Calmly, Ivan snuffed on the bright fire with a pot lid. Turning off the stove element, he waited. After a moment, he lifted the lid to check. With no more oxygen to burn, the hot flames snuffed out. Only blackened strings of former bacon remained.

“I was trying to surprise you.” Alfred sulked in the corner.

“Where is painkillers, Alfred.” Ivan grumbled, Russian accent thicker the the fog of morning.

“Bathroom. Upper cabinet.”

Ivan grunted, unsure why Alfred was glancing away. _Whatever_. Downing pills and water, He realized why. He was shirtless in his boxers, morning wood swaying its fabric sail. Used to being at home with his wife, He forgot to dress appropriately. 

Oh god, he was making this arrangement so awkward. Flush with embarrassment, Ivan tightly lashed his housecoat shut. He went back to the kitchen. “Al, I'm sorry I forgot to close my housecoat again.”

“It's fine. I don't want to talk about it.” Alfred grunted, blushing as he eat string cheese for breakfast.

“I'll buy sleeping pants tomorrow.”

“I'm not talking about it.” Alfred was intensely interested in his sad breakfast.

After venting smoke out the windows, Ivan started making pancakes for both of them.

“It's not fair.” Alfred complained, ending his own moody silence.

“Cooking is not hard, Al. You have to follow instructions.” Ivan joked lightly, once more at ease.

“You got a third leg for a dick Ivan! You could crawl around on that thing.” The admission was unexpected and hilarious from Ivan's prudent friend. The Russian couldn't help it, bursting into laughter.

“Don't laugh! You could use that monster as weapon! I'm surprised it hasn't broken off and slithered away to kill a baby!”

Ivan's sides started to hurt from mirth. He set a plate of real food before his roommate. “Are you jealous of my dick, Al?” He teased openly.

Red faced, Alfred poked his pancake with a fork. “... No.”

The conversation was killed, like all others before it. The improvised kiss of a week ago was never acknowledged. Any mention of feelings was pushed away. This was fine, as Ivan had lived for years in such a state.

“So. We need to start learning each other's background. It's gonna be mighty suspicious if we're fake dating but I don't know your whole name.” Alfred declared, smearing his pancakes in jam and whipped cream.

Finished cooking, Ivan seated himself. Sipping coffee, he nodded thoughtfully. “That is good idea.”

“My name is Alfred Foster Fredrick Jones. I'm from –”

Ivan cut him off, casual as he listed his employee's key life points. “Houston Texas. You were born with a twin brother Matthew. You did well in science since you were a child. Last year, your bother died in a tragic hunting accident. This was a year after you finished your grad school degree. Overcome with grief, You began the process of becoming a Canadian citizen. Everything in Texas reminds you of your dead brother. You birthday is the first of July, but you always lie and say it's the fourth. Makes it more American, I guess.”

Alfred gawked openly. “Are you a stalker?”

“I'm in charge of hiring for Lab B. When I'm serious about a candidate, I look through all of their social media.” Ivan sneered, a glint in his eyes. “I know about your hentai phase.”

A disgusted expression dropped to one of horror. “I was sixteen and horny! You can't judge a man for bad taste under those conditions!”

Ivan chuckled, enjoying his own food. It was nice to be allowed forks again. “What do you know about me?”

Alfred squinted in thought, then smiled. “You are Ivan. You're from... eastern Europe? You have shitty garlic farts, and I can't read a thing you write on paper.”

“I do not fart.” Ivan muttered. 

“You fart constantly. I need a gas mask in the lab.”

“I do _not_ fart. I am perfect human being.” Ivan insisted stubbornly. “I am from Russia. How can you not know I am from Russia?”

Alfred shrugged, licking jam and whipped cream off his plate. He set it down after. “I dunno. Ya'll sound the same to me.”

“Uncultured pig man.” Ivan joked sardonically. He ate generous bites as he listened.

“Tell me about you then, mister fancy pants.”

The sensation of people wanting to listen was a novel one. Ivan savoured it like a sweet summer Popsicle. “I am called Ivan Mikhailovich Braginsky. I was born in Nizhnevartovsk. Mama could not find hospital in time, so I was born on a train. I have two bossy sisters. I moved to Omsk as a child, was ok there. The USSR dissolved, end of the world. Chaos. The family fled to many places, but we ended up in China. I met Wen's family as a teenager. Our wedding was arranged by our fathers.”

Ivan sighed, wishing he could have a cigarette. Alfred's apartment building had a strict no smoking rule that could result in eviction. Alfred looked shocked, but Ivan couldn't grasp why. He saw his life as ordinary in every sense.

“Wedding was after we both graduated. Father did not trust Wen, for she treats money like water. We moved to Novosibirsk, then London for a job. I hated London. It is... not like home. Canada, I like much more. It is less rainy. Other things... became more shitty.”

Alfred butted in, intensely curious. “What did your mom think of Wen?”

Ivan paused, memories of pain flashing by. “She... never met Wen.” He swallowed, struggling to assemble more information.

“Why?”

Alfred was ignored. Ivan stood coldly wand proceeded to wash dishes.

“Come on. Tell me.”

Stony silence continued as Ivan poured water and soap.

“Please please please please please please please tell me.”

Ivan growled at this legitimately. He didn't like this topic of conversation, rarely bringing it up his whole adult life.

“Oh come on. You stalked me on twitter but I don't get to know about your family.” Alfred's logic was impeccable. Still Ivan refused to answer it. After three solid minutes of prodding, nagging, and awful noises, Ivan wanted to snap.

“Please please please please... You know holding bad stuff in gives you testicle cancer. That's what my Mama taught me as a kid. You gotta –”

Ivan was trying to clean a glass. He snapped, dropped it back in sink water with a small splash. He whipped around, wrathful. “She killed herself, Alfred. She killed herself with a fucking gun.”

The air was dead, poisonous before Ivan's wake. Alfred looked at him with concern. The entire dark mood was whisked away with a bright smile. “Well hun, I gotta tell Mama about this. We'll face time it.”

Alfred tugged a stunned Ivan as he babbled. “What?”

“I tell Mama everything. I'm dialing already.” Alfred held his phone up selfie style, a force that could not be stopped. Pushed onto the couch, Ivan was shushed. There was a dial tone on speaker phone. “I tell her everything, absolutely everything. If there's one person I can trust, It's my mama.”

“What?” Ivan grabbed Alfred by the scruff of his shirt. “You told her our plan?”

Alfred rolled his eyes with sass. “Fella, I tell her what I eat for lunch.” The video call picked up with them mid fight. A rosy freckled face greeted them, hair in pink curlers. “Hey mama!” The son crooned in welcome.

“Hey Hun. Is this that poor fool you're helping out?”

“I'm not a fool.” Ivan argued hotly.

Alfred's mom gave him the trademark look of disagreement. Her son patted Ivan on the shoulder like he was a dog. “That's him Mama! A big ol' moron. He's lucky I'm helping him out.”

The mother was even more concentrated American charm than Alfred. “That's right. He's lucky to have you as a friend. By the grace of Texas Walker, he might fall off a cliff without you.”

“I am a scientist with several degrees and a family fortune.” Ivan defended himself. He had no chance against this creature of power from Texas. She decimated Ivan, so thoroughly that Wen would be jealous. Her voice was that of charming judgment, savagery traced by honey.

“You are a fool. You didn't have the courage to end your own pathetic marriage. You used my boy, my baby angel, to get out of it. You don't have the grit, or the will, to be a real adult. Until I hear otherwise, I've cast my judgment.”

Ivan was devastated, speechless as he folded upon himself. This was brutality, pure and simple.

Alfred put an arm around a shell shocked Ivan. “Now Mama, you gotta nice to him. He was in an arranged marriage in a country full of stupid communists. He don't know better.”

“His Mama should have known better. His Mama should have taught him.”

Ivan gasped out. “You can't tell her. It's my secret to keep.”

“Secrets cause cancer in the boy parts.” Alfred's mother chided.

“He don't know better because his parents are dead.” Alfred clarified cheerfully.

This was it. Although Alfred had left out vital detail in his own way, he aired out the dirtiest of laundry. This was raw unexposed Ivan, and this parental figure had already ripped him a new one. God only knew how much worse it would get. He was so tired of being wrong.

What Ivan didn't expect was pity, or possibly sympathy. The electric voice turned tender. “Aw, I'm gonna buy an extra scratch ticket at the store. If I win, I'm gonna fly up and smack the both of you. Then I'm gonna bake us all some snicker doodles.”

The once meek lab assistant spoke with confidence. “You ain't allowed to smack him. His bitch wife did that for ten years.” Was Alfred joking? Was this his anger and pride showing once again? Ivan had no idea, but it made him feel comforted.

“She never... She doesn't mean it.” Ivan whispered meekly.

This conversation was unknown territory. The apartment was a strange new world. In two months, Ivan was going to be divorced and given a new lease on his own life. Who would he be with then? Where would he go after Alfred was paid off?

Ivan didn't have his future mapped out for him anymore, and that was was the scariest truth of all.


	9. That's My Man

The first snow fall. The latest fresh baked bread. Ivan felt like a child, experiencing the world anew. Things he had taken no joy in for years were exciting to a younger Alfred. It was living through the experiences of another, intoxicating. This lead to today's adventure.

After a stressful two months of cursing and patience, Ivan's personal storm had passed. His divorce was days away from finalization. He barely saw Wen these days, but it didn't bother him. After the first two weeks, she texted him with lesser legal details only.

She took most of their stuff, along with the cottage near London. Beyond this, she claimed one hundred thousand dollars in “grievance”. Considering how unscrupulous she could be, this was a generosity of her. After all, they wasted ten years. Ivan struggled to see it as anything else.

Now was the time to relish life and celebrate. What better way than to make beef stroganoff from scratch? Strolling the aisle of the grocery store, Ivan hummed an old pop song from VIA Plamya. It was his favourite band from the mother country. As beef stock was tossed in the cart, he was spotted by a coworker.

It was Dave from accounting. The shady yet friendly accountant had doggedly evaded hanging out with them since last month. All the usual suspects wanted nothing to do with them. Ivan and Alfred didn't understand this phenomena.

Ivan waved to Dave. The guy walked away at determined gait. It would be strange to pursue, so Ivan watched in disappointment. After a moment, he pushed off down he snack aisle. Today was no time for ruminating sorrow, the national sport of all Russians. Stroganoff was to be crafted!

Alfred was still napping on the couch upon return, game controller loose in his hands. He had been foolish, pulling an overnight assault on a new videogame after work. The silly golden blonde had not suffered from lack of comfort upon passing out. Ivan tucked a blanket and pillows around the resting man. The urges couldn't be helped. Ivan liked to spoil people. Alfred had probably gained weight since Ivan moved in.

Fawning over Alfred's sleeping form, Ivan could admit he was far too attached. He and Alfred got along wonderfully. They were overtly competitive, ambitious, and adored pop culture. It was certainly a great match for corporate business. Daring to shuffle closer, Ivan affectionately ruffled wild hair. It was puppy soft, making his heart patter.

Sucking a silent breath, Ivan willed himself to behave. Blushing faintly, the Russian resumed his goal. In the kitchen he was not alone. Pasha and Amerikitty both watched Ivan cook, sometimes tugging on his shoelaces in boredom. When the mushrooms, sauce, and beef were finished, Ivan added a few extra noodles in the pan.

As per usual, Alfred woke to the sizzling scent of food. Draped in a blue blanket, he stumbled over with a cowlick of golden hair. “Bacon?”

“No bacon.” Ivan replied.

“Food.” The groggy man leaned against Ivan, still warm from rest.

“Food.” Ivan confirmed, offering a small chunk of beef on a fork. Alfred ate it sleepily, humming appreciatively. He looked ready to nap where he leaned, wrapping arms around Ivan lazily. “Sweater fuzzy.”

“Yes.” Ivan mumbled, feeling warm under the collar. He loosened the noodle grip around his slightly paunch gut. Maybe he stopped going for daily walks and swimming when he came to Canada. Ivan never found a good gym, or gym buddy, to keep his physique in line.

Guiding sleep drunk Alfred to a kitchen chair, the idiot blinked slowly as he was handed cold water. After a few minutes of refreshing chill, Alfred was more alert. “Thanks for dinner, again.”

“It's fine. You do the dishes for me.” Ivan was serene. He always felt good with these chats.

“I have to go to a training seminar in Thunder Bay. I'm going tonight.” Alfred spoke up, clutching his empty water cup.

Ivan had known about this for days, but he had a problem. Ivan had a tendency to attach to his closest male friends. He also became jealous easily, irrational monsters of want crawling in his brain. _He wanted to go too_. He was a rational man. He wasn't going to project his possessive urges on the best ally he had. Ivan was going to _behave_.

“Maybe I should drive you there.” Goddamn it, Ivan was acting like a child again.

Alfred snorted. “You can't drive me and get back in time for work. It's impossible.”

Ivan steamed, but didn't protest. He was being ridiculous and he knew it. “I... When are you coming back?”

Alfred made light of this, flattened his bedhead hair. “Tomorrow. Don't blow your stack old man.”

“I'm not old! I'm thirty three!”

“That's one hundred years old to a star like me.”

Ivan and Alfred couldn't stop this absurd cycle of taunting. This was not a new process, but the result was less toxic than exchanges with Wen. If anything, it ended up with inane conversations and laughter. “You know stars are hot gas that burn for billions of years, right?”

Alfred stood, twisting his blanket into a toga. “The centre of the solar system baby.”

“... which makes you a billion years older than me.”

Alfred took a moment to process this. “Hey! That's not fair.”

Ivan smiled, turning off the stove. “Life is not fair Alyosha.”

“Ugh. I have to pack. The carpool leaves in five hours.” Alfred walked off as he chatted, only to peek around the edge. “What does Al-yoda mean?”

Ivan busied himself with poking beef stroganoff. Honest to god, the cutesy Russian nickname had fallen out like spare crumbs. Such adornments kept occurring when he was so light of spirit. “It is nothing Fedya.” _Christ, Ivan did it again._

“Commies are weird. I'm gonna shower.” At that, Alfred went off to tend to his business. Ivan was honestly relieved.

A few days away from Alfred would help clear Ivan's mind. Hollywood smiles and baby blue eyes made him forget his priorities constantly. This was all a scheme to get his family fortune back from Wen's manicured claws. Alfred didn't have feelings for him, a top notch actor. The younger man was in this for the student debt payment. He said as much when he kissed Ivan in from of Wen.

Ivan shuddered a breath thinking about that kiss. It would nice to be alone long enough to tend to southern problems. He thirst internally for the need to pleasure himself since moving in. It was an unorthodox change, but probably unrelated to Alfred.

He was only human after all.

00000

The van was crowded, packed with lab workers headed to town. Alfred was the second youngest employee of the lot, a fresh face at twenty six. His mind was heavy with thought as he stared at rolling trees and hills out the window. Was doing this dumb scheme with Ivan ever a good idea? Was this a mistake that would ruin their rapidly growing friendship?

Alfred didn't know and he hated it. He could only hope Ivan might stick around after the divorce was finalized in three days. The plucky American had come to enjoy Ivan's food, twisted humour, and witty quips. Dare he hope it, Ivan might feel the same.

A touch on the shoulder startled Alfred. It was one of the other lab assistants for Lab A. She was a brunette named Suzanne or something similar. Sally? Sarah? Alfred didn't care either way. “Hey there.”

“Hey.” Alfred greeted coolly.

“You were in space there, bud.” Another employee joked, voice thick with the local accent. It wasn't strong enough to be gibberish, but it blurred 'A' sounds into 'oa' sounds. Alfred still wasn't used to it.

“Thinking about Ivy. Made me beef noodle stuff.” Alfred found it to easy to converse about his favourite roommate. Ivan washed his own laundry and dusted things. That was grounds for sainthood.

“Cute. Jonesy got a girlfriend.” The driver joined in, a senior staff trainer from one of the mining sites. 

“Is she hot?” Another male prompted behind Alfred. There was six people crushed into a van, so it was bound to be awkward.

Alfred scrambled to realize the chain reaction of assumptions. They thought “Ivy” was some townie near the mine site. This was disastrous, as Ivan became jealous of other people breathing near Alfred. It was unhealthy as all hell, but Alfred thrived on this. The lesser brother for years, he always needed recognition. Even in death, Matthew was the family favourite.

Still, Ivan would rip heads off if he thought Alfred was dumping his old ass for some imaginary woman. Alfred's normally kind boss could not share a damn thing, even Alfred's time. He spoke up, only to be interrupted. “Well actually, Ivy isn't a –”

_“I'm surprised anyone was brave enough to date you with Mr. Braginsky hanging around.”_

_“That Russian dude is fucking creepy.”_

_“He stares into your soul.”_

_“I tried to work for him a few months ago, It was hell. Transferred to Lab C after he bitched me out.”_

Alfred was shocked at the negative backlash his roommate created. Ivan was pancakes, movies, and kitty play time. There was no one as kind, yet competitive, as that six foot tall door of science muscle. A powerful urge to speak out possessed Alfred but he clawed it back. Unlike a nonsocial Ivan, Alfred had positive standing. He couldn't admit he was closer than most to the perceived villain, but he could denounce other bosses.

“Well I heard the guy running Lab A was doping. Those smart drugs you hear about on TV.” Alfred was lying. This was pure cutting bullshit, but it made him feel so much better. Everyone always talked trash about Ivan. Alfred's southern sensibilities easily tangled into anger when a friend's honour was involved.

_“No way!”_

_“Who knew?”_

_“I never would have guessed it.”_

With Ivan's reputation once more shielded, Alfred released his death grip on the dinner Ivan made him. It was not merely a container of Russian noodle food. It was a sense of home, and having something to belong to. Alfred hadn't felt anything like that since his brother died.

He would go to great lengths to preserve Ivan's friendship, a true red blooded Texan.


	10. Dem Jeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for you Snow.

Alfred was not fully operational. The cause was the idiot across from him. It was laundry day, and both boys engaged the national pageantry of scrambling an outfit together from random articles. Alfred was in a faded Disney world shirt covered in paint splatter stain. This was paired with gym shorts and one blue sock.

_Ivan had to go be a terrible person._

Ivan had to wear fitted jeans and a white tank top. It was a vast contrast from formal slacks and lab coats. He claimed the jeans shrank some time ago, but this was a lie. Pants that looked this good were not a mistake. This was an elaborate plan to make Alfred jealous. The blonde American immigrant was already shorter, and less talented at chess. Now Ivan had to take the niche of looking smoking hot in jeans and workout shirts.

Alfred stabbed the kitchen table with a knife. He was heated and irritable since breakfast, too angry to chat. Ivan's voice called out, soft and kind. “Fedya.”

Alfred stabbed the table again, ignoring the other man. Violent furniture murder was paused, Ivan's pale bony hands laying over his own. They were the fingers of an artist, perhaps a painter or a writer. Alfred long to roam his gaze over anything the man before him made.

“What did the table do to you, Alyosha?”

Dry mouthed, Alfred struggled to stay focused. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Ivan sat across from him now, eyes kind. In his skimpy sauce stained shirt, a massive scar peeked out for all to see. “Not even a little?”

The table was stabbed one more time, then the blade was let go. “I don't!” Alfred insisted childishly. He looked up, heart pattering. Ivan was eating strawberries, a playful gesture. “Fucking christ, why are you doing this to me!?”

Ivan frowned, chomping another sweet red berry. After swallowing, a bob of his Adams apple, the jerk spoke. “Doing what?”

He couldn't take it, ready to shake from pent up energy. Alfred paced, he always paced over something. “First you show up in my life, so fucking smart. Cooking, making my sandwiches look like shit. Then you act so funny I can't even stay mad at you. You prance around in your tight ass jeans, trying to... I don't know, throw me off. Fuck me up. What's your game, man? Stop torturing me!”

Alfred didn't give Ivan a chance to defend himself, stomping over to the kitchen junk drawer. He looked around the contents, then slammed it shut. “Where the fuck do all my lip chaps keep going?”

“Maybe they roll away.” Ivan suggested lightly, amused by all this. The dumb bastard was probably stealing them, but there was no proof. He was rosy cheeked as he watched Alfred crumble apart. He shifted his denim skinned posture, magnetizing Alfred's attention. Ivan had never looked so middle class, and it twisted Alfred's guts into hot fire. It was ungodly effort not to watch intently.

Ivan was talking, but Alfred wasn't listening. He was hot and impatient, itching to grasp and squeeze. He had to calm the fuck down, before he spiralled into nonsense. God it was so hard to breathe. Ivan stood and guided him to the couch. A strawberry was placed in his hands.

“You're not yourself when you're hungry.” Ivan was as wise as he was snug in those fucking pants. He wasn't wrong either. Alfred brooded as he nibbled on the fruit. When only the leaf part was left, he felt marginally better.

“I'm jealous.” The younger man finally admitted, having held in this toxic envy for weeks. It was now three months since Ivan moved in, and there was no sign of him leaving. Alfred was deeply grateful, now used to cooked food and easy conversation.

Ivan prompted him to speak more with a gesture of hands, relaxing on the worn furniture. When more news was not forthcoming, He asked verbally. “Why are you jealous?”

Alfred shrugged, sulking like a moody teen. Leaning in, Ivan offered a friendly hand squeeze. “You can trust me.” This moment was so delicate, like thin paper. Anything could tear this vulnerable connection of friends. The truth, a scrap of it, was finally released.

“I'm jealous of _you_ , Ivan.”

Ivan let out a little breath of surprise. He then dragged a squirming Alfred into his lap. Mumbling something in sneaky Russian, he cuddled Alfred tenderly. It was warmth, comfort and _home_. Alfred wanted to melt. He was a happy puddle, slathered over this jean clad Adonis. With a small hum of joy, toxic anger evaporated.

The question weighing Alfred's heart finally shone through. “Ivy... would you come to Christmas in Texas with me?” The hallowed holiday was only two months away now, Mama already lining up plane tickets with her rewards card.

“Of course, Alfred.”

The golden blonde was pleased, plastered securely against his personal monument to science muscles. Thank god for fitted jeans.


	11. Texas Blues

Christmas in Canada was crisp and chilly, the way it should be. Texas Christmas was humid burning hell. Ivan realized this the second he stepped off the plane. It was like a wave of heat punched him in the face. Alfred seemed immune to the lovely scorched eternity known as Texas.

This was it, the end of Ivan Braginksky. He wore the thinnest long sleeve shirt he owned, but he was still cooking as they waited by the airport curb. “Alfred I'm dying.” the Russian mumbled, leaning on a traffic sign.

“Stop being a baby.” Alfred had no sympathy, wearing his trade mark 'Everything is bigger in Texas' shirt. The text subtly suggested one thing was the biggest of all. Alfred's blazing dick envy knew no bounds despite very little discussion.

“How can I be a baby when I have a dick the size of an arm?” Ivan teased.

Alfred steamed, unwilling to respond at first. He glanced at Ivan's body, then away sharply. He already looked emotionally constipated as he spat out words. “Shut up. I'm amazing. Everything I do is perfect.”

Ivan hummed, amused. He was certain Alfred was gay or bisexual but in deep denial. The visceral reaction drawn out of the freckled blonde when Ivan wore fitted clothes was telling. Jeans and anything middle class especially left him incoherent. If Ivan wore a plaid shirt and a cowboy hat, Alfred might ruin his boxers.

This funny moral dilemma led Ivan to question himself. What was he gaining by continuing to live with Alfred? They had an eight year gap, and enormous intellectual differences. Was Ivan using this younger insecure man? Was he wrong to crave cuddling company daily? Was Ivan some type of strange sexuality? Was it something simpler, unwilling to be alone after living with another for years?

Ivan wasn't sure of anything after the divorce. Wen emotionally ripped his guts out, exhausting him. It was easier to savour the now. Ivan took a lemonade lip chap out, protecting his pale lips. It also reminded him of that impromptu kiss four months ago. His soul felt joy once again.

Flustered, Alfred grabbed the chap stick out of his hands. “Stop stealing my goddamn stuff!”

“I found it in my office. Is mine.” Ivan countered, having every intention of stealing it later.

“No. Stealing bad!” Alfred jammed the chap stick in his jean shorts pocket, then cleared his throat. “The taxi will be here soon. Um, My family isn't as... liberal as me about cultures and stuff. So when they say something really awful about Russia, don't be surprised.”

Ivan shrugged, uncaring. Russia was internationally the villain since 1918 in many cultures. Raised within communist framework, Ivan was perfectly aware he was unpopular. “I don't care.”

“... or politics, or guns, or what country singer is better, or the death penalty, or if Mr. Rogers is a republic or a democrat...” Alfred fretted, having to stop himself.

“So, acting like an American.” Ivan deadpanned.

Alfred didn't know what to do with his hands at first, ultimately resting one on Ivan's arm. “It's gonna be rough, but they are good people. I... I don't want you to think they hate you.” Baby blue eyes locked intensely with Ivan's violet. Bless the idiot, he was trying to communicate his locked up feelings. Ivan deemed this good, rewarding the other with a true smile. This was another moment again, light and precious. Ivan had the urge to do something stupidly romantic, heart beating a little faster.

The taxi arrived, honking at them. Snapped out of their bizarre haze, both men grabbed their luggage. Rosy cheeked, they climbed into he back seat after dumping things in the trunk. Alfred gave direction, otherwise silent. He balled his hands into fists, taut with invisible anxiety.

Ivan slid his hand over Alfred's, rubbing a thumb pad over soft skin. Alfred visibly relaxed, smiling in goofy fashion. Contentment, the Russian identified this. This was contentment. Okay, maybe Ivan wasn't straight. In true scientific process, he doubted himself. God willing, he would have to test this proposed theory. That was a scary undertaking in itself.

The taxi arrived at it's destination, but Ivan was not prepared. Leaving the shell of air conditioned provided by the car, the Russian was assaulted. He was assaulted by Christmas. The level of holiday spirit coming off this middle class home was radioactive levels.

Four plastic Santa statues were stabbed into the lawn. 'Merry Christmas' was in blinking lights on the pitched roof. The American flag window shutters were lined with fake garland and bells. A growing crowd of deeply sunburned white people in ugly christmas sweaters was in the driveway, a giant truck at their centre. Conversations of horsepower and all wheel drive could be heard from across the street.

Ivan was slightly shocked by the American levels as Alfred gestured with flourish. “Well, what do you think big guy?”

Texas was a place of irrational nonsense, but Ivan didn't quite want to crush Alfred yet. “They are wearing sweaters. It is 20 degrees outside.”

Alfred paused, then squinted in confusion.

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Celcius, Al.”

The adorable moron shrugged. “I don't know roman history.” Alfred turned to the ugly Christmas sweater gang, waving energetically. “Hey guys! It's been a dog's age!”

Bro hugs, aggressive back pats, and high fives made the rounds. Apparently this tinsel littered sea of testosterone was Alfred's cousins and uncles. A slurry of names rolled by, almost all bible references. One of the Texan horde approached Ivan, offering a hand. His moustache was formidable.

“Uncle Gebidiah, the boys call me Geb. Glad to meet ya.”

Ivan met the offer, his arm shaken like a noodle. Was this bizarre cultural intimidation, or zealous hospitality? “Ivan Mikhailovich Braginsky. Thank you for this hospitality.”

The brazen uncle paused on the typical Russian name, confused by all the consonants. Alfred did the same thing to this day, unable to spell anything but 'Ivan'. “You're... Who are you again?” The man asked, puzzled.

Alfred butted in, pushing Ivan aside with a grunt of effort. “He's my best friend in the whole panhandle. No one smarter than him in all of Canada.” He was nearing prickly as he declared this supposed fact.

“He some kind of scientist?” A cousin asked, adjusting his ball cap.

“Yup.” Alfred chimed, cutting Ivan off before he could defend himself. The taller Russian gave up for the time being, tugged along. The sweet embrace of air conditioning returned to Ivan as he was paraded around the medium sized home. Alfred was excited, a puppy of a man as he showed his kin a Russian prize.

The one person Ivan didn't want to see was last. Alfred's mother was a sharpened blade of wit despite being much shorter. She made Alfred almost look tall. Ivan had to look down upon her, but it diminished her strength little.

Her baby blue eyes were a mother's judgment. “Well, bless your heart. You came along to our family Christmas.”

“I was invited.” Ivan answered simply, very aware he was on low moral grounds with her.

“I invited him. You gotta be nice Mama.” Alfred warned with a wag of a finger. She was immune to the various noises her child made, a maternal warrior.

The parent switched gears, offering a fork of sliced meat. “A slice of my famous brisket. What do you think dear?”

Ivan wasn't a fool. He knew the mother didn't trust him. This was likely a test to gleam his moral centre. Would he lie if the food was bad? Ivan's wasn't sure yet. He felt an alien need to show off before these bizarre Americans, but it was for selfish reasons. Trying to appease his fake boyfriend seemed really stupid, even as a private thought.

With a sigh, Ivan took the fork. The lamb was chewy, and frankly terrible. No, Ivan didn't care about earning Alfred's respect if he had to eat this. “It is undercooked.” He spoke plainly, his dead stare matching hers.

The was tense pause, then the mother broke into a hollywood smile. “I'll have to check the temperature again. I'm sure my boy's friends are not liars.” That witch actually fed him bad meat on purpose. Ivan's blood boiled a little more, but he had patience.

Alfred completely missed the point of the diplomatic clash. “Can I have some?”

“No baby, It's not done yet. Have a cookie.” The mother patted her child lovingly on the shoulder, giving him a sugar coloured like a Texas flag in frosting.

“Okay. Come on Ivy, gotta show you my house.” Alfred was oblivious, food in his mouth as he talked. Ivan felt the parent's cutting glare as they left the cute 1980's kitchen with it's pink tiles. Every room had at least three crosses on the wall. There was almost as many crosses as ugly Christmas sweaters. Some sweaters had crosses on them.

Raised in an atheist world as a child, Ivan felt incredibly uncomfortable here. “I will bring up the luggage.” Ivan left no room for argument as he grabbed their belongings, eager to relax. “Where is our room?”

Alfred chased him up the stairs, emitting frantic energy. “Yeah, so we're sharing my old room. Here's the thing, Mama kinda redecorated after Mattie died and... You can't judge what you see because. Family stuff. Okay?”

“Whatever. Where is room?” Ivan snarled, his R's rolling as his manners slipped.

Alfred pointed the way, hard to offend. It was one of his many pleasant qualities. The door in question still had sticker letters on it. 'Al and Mattie. KEEP OUT' glittered in the yellowed hall lights. Ivan opened the door, flicking on the lights. He was met with a landslide of wall pictures.

Prior to this room, there was no evidence of Alfred's dead twin brother. Not a mention of him, for it was all concentrated here. Matthew, from baby to young adult was showcased in this room of beige and green. Every ribbon, sports trophy, and academic paper was on display.

This was not a bedroom with two side tables and a dresser. This was a memorial to Alfred's twin brother, one hundred of the same friendly eyes staring at him. “This room is creepy.” Ivan spoke bluntly.

Alfred didn't have a rebuttal. He looked away solemnly, hands in his pockets. It was the posture of defeat, or sadness. The budding chemist acted the very same when Ivan accidentally ate his pudding in the work fridge. Maybe Ivan replaced it with a muffin... maybe.

Something even more distressing was observed by Ivan. There was only one bed, and Ivan was an infamous space thief. “Fedya, there is only one bed.”

Alfred whipped around, spotting the danger. “Why is there only one bed?”

“You said there was two smaller beds before.”

“I _know_ I said that, I used to live here.” Alfred snipped back, pacing like he always did. He froze, finger up in realization. “I know what happened here.”

Ivan perked a brow, passively listening as he sat on the end of the bed.

“Mama thinks that I sold myself to break your shitty marriage. I told her to stuff it, because that is not what happened.”

Ivan huffed, this very concern bothering him for a long time. He felt morally icky about proceeding any farther without conversations of consent. These were the topics Alfred never wanted to discuss. “It's not? I paid your student debt.”

Alfred blushed richly, looking adorably abashed. “That was kinda nice, but it's not why I agreed to all this in the long run.” He smiled shyly, pushing up his glasses. Stepping a little closer, he gently held Ivan's hand. It was then his brain shorted out on language use.

“You're really... Ivan you know, and I... I'm me. Together we are like... hydrogen and oxygen. We... just are, and I... I would like to continue being, you know. The hydrogen of this molecule.”

That entire statement was nonsense, but Alfred was obviously trying very hard. Ivan nodded thoughtfully, then tugged Alfred onto the bed. He tickled Alfred mercilessly, grinning like a predator. “You are so reactive Mr. Hydrogen. Stop exploding Mr. Hydrogen.”

Alfred laughed as he kicked and squirmed. “I changed my mind! You're argon! Stinky ol' argon!”

Ivan was infected by this joy, holding Alfred down and pulling up his shirt. He blew a big wet raspberry on Alfred's stomach. This earned a peel of giggles and “Stop it you noble gas nerd!”

It happened again, an entangling of touch and feeling. Ivan above a breathless Alfred, so happy his heart could spill over. Blue eyes like jewels, bright as they looked up to Ivan. Trusting him. Memorizing every little part of him. Ivan's soul was light and joyful as his brain was hijacked. He craved to kiss the young man below. Ivan _needed_ it like oxygen, logic fuzzy from lust.

Just as Ivan leaned in, Alfred's adoring glance flicked to the open door. There was voice calling from downstairs. “Hey, Al! You want a burger!?”

Alfred recovered first from their shared spell. He looked surprised at his own behaviour, finally releasing his hold on Ivan's loose shirt. “Yeah.” He called out weakly, trembling a breath. “Yeah I want two burgers.”

Ivan was ready to burn with frustration, flushed as he rolled away. “I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Alfred bit his lip, wringing his hands nervously. “Yeah. I'll um, yeah. I need a few minutes too.”

There was hesitation as Alfred looked to Ivan imploringly. He tried to say something, but failed to speak. With an annoyed growl, Alfred averted his gaze. Now grumpy, he snatched what was clearly a sex toy from his luggage. Ivan watched silently, taking in this information. Alfred left, possibly angry at himself. He stomped off to the bathroom.

Well, wasn't that something.


	12. Top Of The World

With only three days to enjoy Texas, Alfred was determined to drag Ivan around Houston. The radio played old Christmas songs as they toured past monuments and tourist locations. They ended up parked at Sam Houston park. Alfred was an endless fountain of words after their afternoon moment. 

Parked, Alfred had a death grip on the wheel. He babbled endlessly. “... because you know, Grimace is the worst McDonald mascot. His name alone. Grimace. Grim, like he's a burden to the rest of the McDonald family, you know?”

Ivan could see masking through nonsense, a common tactic Alfred used to avoid reality. “Alfred. Stop this.”

The blonde bastard was so stubborn. “What are you talking about?”

“This afternoon, we almost had something.”

There was silence, finally. Alfred swallowed. “I'm not gay, I'm not. I've dated girls. I love country music, cowboy culture, sports, and apple pie. I'm an American man, I'm a manly goddamn person.” He was struggling with his own words, voice wavering slightly.

Ivan nodded, letting him stumble around mentally. “I'm not saying you are. But we had something.”

Alfred didn't deny it, eyes snapping back to Ivan. The air was charged with feeling unspoken. “I don't know what's happening here.”

“I want to find out.” Ivan prompted simply, blushing faintly. “This isn't anything like what I experienced with Wen. It's...”

Alfred was once more tense, glaring with intense hatred at the steering wheel of his mother's aged car.

“What?” Ivan deadpanned, not completely blind. “What is the problem?”

With a snort, Alfred's adorably bratty colours showed. “It's Wen.”

“I divorced her. She's not here.”

This triggered Alfred like a bomb, spilling him into true rant. The golden blonde's words grew sharp with spikes in volume. “She might as well be Ivy. It's always Wen said this, or she did that. She's gone Ivan! She neglected and abandoned you! You're supposed to be my buddy! My very best friend! My roommate! You're... **You're supposed to be with me!”**

There it was, weeks of tension snapping like dry winter twigs. Both males were equally shocked at the truth bomb dropped in this car. Alfred blushed and hid his face in shame. 

Ivan let out a breathy word, “Oh.” He didn't know what to say to this possessive confession, warm under the collar. Alfred desired him, whether he was actively doing so or not. This stunning news was a final great confirmation. Sliding a hand over Alfred's bouncing leg, the next words were low and tender. 

“I'm here with you, Fedya.” 

Alfred peeked out from his fingers, now rather red. He was astonished, calming considerably. Tentatively, he threaded his hand with Ivan's. He took a long minute to summon words, far from his comfort zone. “That's... That's good.” 

_Self control._

It was something Ivan lacked in romance, always had. Giddy off the chemistry of this conversation, he impulsively leaned over to the driver's side of the car. With a demure kiss on the cheek, Ivan returned to his seat proper. He was happy, indescribably so. Alfred wore a goofy grin as he slipped on his sunglasses. 

“Let's try to survive tonight's dinner.” 


	13. Made it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for reading!

Ivan watched Alfred as he shovelled mashed sweet potatoes onto a plate. After drivelling conversation of trucks, sports, and local events, the ash blonde was bored. Alfred was protective of his family against Ivan too. At first, the Russian was puzzled by this. It was clear after twenty minutes why.

_Alfred's family was a bunch of hicks._

There was conversation about modern medicine causing mental disorders. It shouldn't have gained as much traction as it did. Ivan was offended to hear this, both as a chemist and a decent human being. Did Alfred's family want to die of medieval diseases?

A cousin of Alfred's some brunette that was slightly pregnant, gestured to Ivan. After realizing she started the stupid conversation, Ivan had stripped her name from his memory. Pregnant stupid idiot offered a welcoming smile. “Ivan, you've barely said a thing.”

What was there to say to room of people that believed vaccinations caused brain damage? Ivan shrugged, offering a kindly but neutral response. “It has been so interesting to hear what you all have to say.”

Alfred looked to Ivan in approval, knowing how painful this was. “Yep. The world is full of interesting folks. Did you hear about the kid that was born without an eye?”

Ivan was thankful for the change of topic. He was ready to punch someone if they confused chemistry and pharmacy sciences again. “What is more amazing is how you are still hungry. You ate entire bag of flaming hot Cheetos before dinner.”

Alfred chuckled. “That was just an appetizer. Gotta get at least three sources of orange.”

“The colour orange is not a food group.”

“Orange is a perception of light that directly reflects the quality of the material I consume.”

“Fedya, I am not willing to explore the electromagnetic scale over Cheetos. The perception of light refraction off matter does not indicate the molecular content beyond the surface.”

The entire room was lost. Another stupid family member spoke up. “You two get along awful well.”

Alfred elbowed Ivan playfully. “We got chemistry.”

The Slav rolled his eyes. “That... that was terrible.”

Alfred's mother spoke up, dumping some version of the truth. True to her word, the parent never blabbed about Ivan's fake dating plan. She was still human, and had to say something. “They're dating.” The short cheerful figure looked relieved to say anything.

Almost all thirty people was stunned. Alfred was oblivious, plowing through sweet potatoes and grilled sausage. “Mmm good food Mama.”

“Alfred is gay?” It was a question echoed more than once at the lengthy dining table.

Ivan proudly put an arm around Alfred, nuzzling his golden hair. “He is mine.” Alfred paused his endless eating to lean appreciatively into the gesture. He looked so happy in Ivan's bold gesture.

“I met him at work.” Alfred was adamant he was not gay, but he wasn't claiming heterosexuality either.

“Do not use the chemistry joke again.” Ivan warned, returning to nibbling on too much food.

Alfred wore a cheesy grin. “You could say we exchanged electrons and bonded.” The joke was lost on most of the room.

Ivan couldn't help it, giggling. “That was terrible.”

Alfred looked at him with hooded eyes, dangerously close to flirting. “Yet you laugh.”

It couldn't be helped, Ivan blushing faintly as he ate. He wanted to kiss those soft lips again. Alfred's family tore the conversation apart within minutes. The questions were horribly offensive, non of them given quarter.

_When did you decide to become gay?_

_How did you become gay?_

_Why be gay now when you dated girls in school?_

Alfred gathered the courage to face this onslaught. “Some things happen, and I'm not going to take them for granted.” Approving, Ivan held his hand under the table. The urge to kiss was too strong to battle. Ivan leaned over and kissed Alfred on the cheek again. It made him giddy and light.

This meagre display of what he craved silenced the room. Even Alfred's mother shut her face hole, stunned at the revelation. Until now, she assumed this was still a fake dating scenario. The subject shifted away, but the family was clearly uncomfortable.

The realization of what Ivan was doing walloped him. He slowly ate his frankfurter on a bun while processing it. He wasn't faking anything was he? The past few months had been so happy and sweet. Was he ever faking attraction? Did this ever not mean everything to him?

He was half a continent from home because Alfred badly wanted him for holiday company. Ivan felt retarded in how long the truth took to sink in. Ivan was... gay, he had never felt so happy with Wen. Their wedding had been arranged when he was a teenager. He... he didn't have to feel guilty about ruining her life anymore.

Ivan smiled like a crazy lovesick fool the rest of the evening. He was never into girls. It was just as much Wen's fault the marriage failed as it was his! A weight fell away from his soul. He had been drowning in guilt so damn long, he believed he once caused it all! Now he was free, and the ash blonde had trouble grasping it.

One horribly awkward dinner later, Ivan was in the upstairs bedroom. Fiendish mustard had splattered his long sleeve shirt. He couldn't live with walking around in a dinner spill. Kicking the door shut lazily, he peeled off the shirt. Alfred stumbled in with spot on timing. “Hey Ivy we need to talk about – Oh, I...”

The inexperienced man looked away from Ivan's shirtless body. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “You're busy, I can come back later.”

Ivan spilled over with subtle affections at this puritan display. They were both so hopeless. Grabbing Alfred before he could flee, Ivan closed and locked the door. “Fedya, I'm yours.” This was purred as Ivan leaned close. He rubbed his hand down Alfred's arm in want as much as comfort.

“You said as much in the car.” Alfred's babbling shyness shone through again.

“You can touch me. You can hold me. I won't mind.” Ivan urged, more longing that he realized. Lift away a decade of guilt and there was a lot spare energy to be had.

With a breath, Alfred looked Ivan over. Taking in detail, he ran a hand over Ivan's scarred chest. “What happened here?”

“Some boys in Omsk decided to give me a local welcome when I was young.” Ivan mumbled, getting rather heated from all this attention. He could feel finger trailing along edges of his prolific chest scar. It was undoing him like a zipper.

Alfred hugged him close, smelling of orange body wash. “They... they tried to gut you buddy.”

Ivan nuzzled that puppy soft hair, not close enough yet. “They failed.”

“It makes me so angry, knowing there's people that would you like this!” Ah, there was Alfred's stifled passion. Resting his head in the dip of Ivan's neck, a soft few words were uttered. “You don't deserve to be hurt.”

Ivan squeezed Alfred tight, spilling over with joys. He couldn't summon words to encapsulate his feelings. Ivan parted, only to sweep Alfred off his feet. “Ivan what are you doing?” Alfred giggled as he was carried to the bed. Dropped on the springy mattress, Alfred bounced slightly.

“Mine.” Ivan whispered, flopping next to Alfred. He curled around the centre of his new heart, kissing skin delicately. “This hand is mine, this arm is mine.”

Alfred was blushing and breathy from so much affection. “Ivy, we're in my dead brother's bedroom. It's not really a good place to...” He trailed off, sighing as Ivan aggressively kissed up his arm. Ivan cuddled him, finally kissing soft lips. It unbound Ivan.

Soft electric love stirred his soul, chased by lip chap. _Peach_. Alfred was the flavour of peaches now. So long lemonade era, here came the time of peaches. Ravaging his peach, kissing nipping love bites and touches. Rolling clinging love, until Ivan was flopped on his back. Above him, Alfred had saddled his hips and taken control.

Ivan could feel it between them, coiled heat and want. He pressed upward playfully, libido in full swing. What was once impossible now sprang to action, and Ivan craved... _everything_. Alfred gasped then held him down by the wrists.

“D-don't, I'm really sensitive right now.” Alfred whispered, a man of desperation.

“I will help.” Ivan promised sweetly, grinding upwards again. He would help Alfred know all the joys there could be, all the happiness. This was real and true, like a river of affections and dare he hope... love. There was no faking this now.

Alfred smiled, freckled charm and sincere blue eyes. “I'm... I'm gonna hold you to that big guy.”

**~ END ~**


End file.
